 | The river-side |  |
5
BOOK I.
ARGUMENT.
Proœmium—Subject proposed—Invocation to Anthea—Source of the River—the Fowler and his Dog—the Heron—migratory Fowls—a Rocky Stream—a Chalybeat Spring—a Mill-stream—the course of the River less barren,—Remains, of ancient Forests, the effects of their removal on Society—A Mountain Walk—the River encreased, its noise at a distance rushing with rapidity down a glen—a Dark Path by the River-side—a Rural Bridge—the City Nymph—Country Girls bearing victuals to Men at work in the fields—Peasant Boy fishing—a Wild Rocky Scene, favourable to the contemplative mind, and poetical fancy—View of the Country from a Rock—the River in its progress interrupted by Rocks, forms a Cascade—the Angler—Cruelty of casting Lime into the River—Flax also poisonous to Fish—the Ford dangerous in Floods—Randal and Anna—the Mill—the Pattern, or rural Dance—the Blind Piper—State of the Peasantry considered—the River assumes a more noble aspect, flows slowly on with encreased magnitude, surrounded with Groves—Water Plants —Reeds resembling the spears of an army in ancient array—the Plains of Philippi and Pharsalia—Character of the Irish—Swans—the Moor-Hen—City Fowlers— the River takes the appearance of a Lake, surrounded by inaccessible Rocks, high Mountains, and extensive Woods—the Country Lad and his Pipe—the Cotter's Hut—Apostrophe to Nature—the Wild Brook—Reflections—Wood Cutters—Cataract, and Reflections occasioned thereby.
7
While the loud din of arms tumultuous rings
From clime to clime—and the red shafts of war
Unceasing fly—is there a peaceful theme
Can now delight? While every ear enclines
To hear of combats and the sack of towns,
Of armies routed, and embattled fields
Deform'd with dead; who with adventurous hand
Shall touch the string? Yet some there still are found
Who from such evils, love at times to fly
And seeking sylvan quiet and the seat
By mossy spring, delight to court the muse,
Woo'd happ'ly in the silent Summer shade.
Of such am I; and while the busy world
Anxiously follow some unreal bliss
With ceaseless toil—the River's-side I choose,
And all its mazes, from the secret spring
Along the grassy bank and shrubby bourne
By cliff and cragg to where the freighted barque
Rides fearless of the frown on Neptune's brow,
Or surly Eurus' rage and tune retired
A pipe of homely stop. And do thou come
Anthea, for thou lov'st the rural walk,
Inspire the muse who sings for thee alone,
And I'll invoke no other power, nor need
The inspiring air of Phocian Castaly,
Pierian fountains, or the sacred Hill
By Phœbus lov'd, and the Aonian maids.
From clime to clime—and the red shafts of war
Unceasing fly—is there a peaceful theme
Can now delight? While every ear enclines
To hear of combats and the sack of towns,
Of armies routed, and embattled fields
Deform'd with dead; who with adventurous hand
Shall touch the string? Yet some there still are found
8
And seeking sylvan quiet and the seat
By mossy spring, delight to court the muse,
Woo'd happ'ly in the silent Summer shade.
Of such am I; and while the busy world
Anxiously follow some unreal bliss
With ceaseless toil—the River's-side I choose,
And all its mazes, from the secret spring
Along the grassy bank and shrubby bourne
By cliff and cragg to where the freighted barque
Rides fearless of the frown on Neptune's brow,
Or surly Eurus' rage and tune retired
A pipe of homely stop. And do thou come
Anthea, for thou lov'st the rural walk,
Inspire the muse who sings for thee alone,
And I'll invoke no other power, nor need
9
Pierian fountains, or the sacred Hill
By Phœbus lov'd, and the Aonian maids.
From some cold rock in woody covert hid,
Clear springing forth with pure unsullied drops,
Or bubbling out, with soft and tuneless fall,
From the drear bosom of some barren wild,
Remote, and hopeless of the mower's toil,
Or waving Ceres; where the bending waste
From the bleak summits of two neighbouring hills
Forms a rude plain; the River comes, at first
Distinguish'd only by the tufted rush,
Or wat'ry cresses, that its course denote
Seen verdant mid the rigid desart brown:
And seldom seen but by the Fowler. He,
With vent'rous foot, the yielding surface treads
From tuft to tuft—he knows the place alone
And shuns the faithless green, that hides below
A treacherous abyss; while, as he toils,
With measured step and slow, his faithful dog
Sedulous amid the marshy covert tries,
And plunges often in—up springs the snipe,
And whirrs on rapid pennon 'gainst the breeze,
Sole habitant of these neglected swamps,
Except the Heron, who perhaps at times
Attracted here for prey, far down the glen,
Beside a clump of flags, silent and still,
Scarcely distinguished by his slender form,
Stands lonely; startled at the deadly sound,
With outstretch'd neck, he rises o'er the fen
With heavy beating wing, unwieldy, slow,
A doubtful burthen on the mountain air,
And then, his lengthened neck into a curve
Contracting, wheels into the middle sky,
And far away he floats, screaming aloft,
Complaining of the bold intruder, man.
Clear springing forth with pure unsullied drops,
Or bubbling out, with soft and tuneless fall,
From the drear bosom of some barren wild,
Remote, and hopeless of the mower's toil,
Or waving Ceres; where the bending waste
From the bleak summits of two neighbouring hills
Forms a rude plain; the River comes, at first
Distinguish'd only by the tufted rush,
Or wat'ry cresses, that its course denote
Seen verdant mid the rigid desart brown:
10
With vent'rous foot, the yielding surface treads
From tuft to tuft—he knows the place alone
And shuns the faithless green, that hides below
A treacherous abyss; while, as he toils,
With measured step and slow, his faithful dog
Sedulous amid the marshy covert tries,
And plunges often in—up springs the snipe,
And whirrs on rapid pennon 'gainst the breeze,
Sole habitant of these neglected swamps,
Except the Heron, who perhaps at times
Attracted here for prey, far down the glen,
Beside a clump of flags, silent and still,
Scarcely distinguished by his slender form,
Stands lonely; startled at the deadly sound,
With outstretch'd neck, he rises o'er the fen
11
A doubtful burthen on the mountain air,
And then, his lengthened neck into a curve
Contracting, wheels into the middle sky,
And far away he floats, screaming aloft,
Complaining of the bold intruder, man.
Here too, in winter time, from their high course,
(Paying the annual visit Nature prompts)
Descend the Plover and the vagrant tribes,
That yearly migrate hither from the wilds
Of distant Cronium, or the northern coast
Of rough Suevicum, in milder climes
To seek the food their native fields deny.
As yet a slender urn the River pours;
A little nameless rill, that trickles down,
Obscure amid its rudely channel'd bed;
Divided oft in many a slender vein
By the heaped ruin of the mountain flood,
Through which it drips; 'till with collected stream,
It spouts from ridge to ridge, then sinks again
And chafes and murmurs, 'till a smoother bed
Spreads it abroad a silver current clear,
Dimpling along round many a pointed stone,
And shews a lengthened train of broken light;
Then sudden falls into a yawning rift,
And thence escaping, glances rapid down
Compact and smooth; and now on either side
Receives the offered tributes of the hills,
That trickling fall from many a pendent rock
Mid tangling briers that begin to cloathe
Its mossy sides, and oft discoloured seen
By mineral dross from the adjacent ore,
That in the secret chambers of the hill,
Lies far and deep.—Here where the frequent drop,
Has scooped a hollow in the neighbouring rock,
Of old repute the healing spring is found,
Abstergent, whose unfailing pow'r subdues
The slow consuming malady, and lifts,
When other med'cines fail, the wasting wretch
From death.—Hither perhaps in crowds
Throng the pale city nymphs and pining youth,
And from th'salubrious fountain daily quaff
The rosy draught of health.—Nor seldom here,
Love shoots his darts unerring, while the walk,
For exercise advised, is oft prolonged
In tender converse o'er these shrubby hills
Till soft affection rises o'er the soul,
Melts on the lip, and trembles on the tongue,
Known by th'expressive eloquence of eyes
The tender sigh returned and yielding hand,
The mutual spark expands into a flame,
That pity kindled first and gentle care.
Nor is the infant stream, less friendly here
To active industry, on many a mill
He pours his waters, or diverted far
To where the shelving hill invites a fall,
A borrow'd portion from his channel flows;
And fields before unbless'd by nature's hand,
With the refreshing rill or grateful spring,
Welcome the stranger to their arid breasts,
And in the lustre of his little stream
Rejoicing, strew his slender banks with flowers.
(Paying the annual visit Nature prompts)
Descend the Plover and the vagrant tribes,
That yearly migrate hither from the wilds
Of distant Cronium, or the northern coast
Of rough Suevicum, in milder climes
To seek the food their native fields deny.
12
A little nameless rill, that trickles down,
Obscure amid its rudely channel'd bed;
Divided oft in many a slender vein
By the heaped ruin of the mountain flood,
Through which it drips; 'till with collected stream,
It spouts from ridge to ridge, then sinks again
And chafes and murmurs, 'till a smoother bed
Spreads it abroad a silver current clear,
Dimpling along round many a pointed stone,
And shews a lengthened train of broken light;
Then sudden falls into a yawning rift,
And thence escaping, glances rapid down
Compact and smooth; and now on either side
Receives the offered tributes of the hills,
That trickling fall from many a pendent rock
13
Its mossy sides, and oft discoloured seen
By mineral dross from the adjacent ore,
That in the secret chambers of the hill,
Lies far and deep.—Here where the frequent drop,
Has scooped a hollow in the neighbouring rock,
Of old repute the healing spring is found,
Abstergent, whose unfailing pow'r subdues
The slow consuming malady, and lifts,
When other med'cines fail, the wasting wretch
From death.—Hither perhaps in crowds
Throng the pale city nymphs and pining youth,
And from th'salubrious fountain daily quaff
The rosy draught of health.—Nor seldom here,
Love shoots his darts unerring, while the walk,
For exercise advised, is oft prolonged
14
Till soft affection rises o'er the soul,
Melts on the lip, and trembles on the tongue,
Known by th'expressive eloquence of eyes
The tender sigh returned and yielding hand,
The mutual spark expands into a flame,
That pity kindled first and gentle care.
Nor is the infant stream, less friendly here
To active industry, on many a mill
He pours his waters, or diverted far
To where the shelving hill invites a fall,
A borrow'd portion from his channel flows;
And fields before unbless'd by nature's hand,
With the refreshing rill or grateful spring,
Welcome the stranger to their arid breasts,
15
Rejoicing, strew his slender banks with flowers.
The opening glen soon shews, on either hand,
A scene less barren, 'mid the rocks arise,
Of various hues, and sown by Nature's hand,
The mountain shrub, and oaks of lessened growth;
Perhaps ascending from the ancient roots
Of mighty forests, that in times remote,
Embraced in solemn umbrage half our isle,
Beneath whose dark protection dwelt secure,
The savage Wolf, or lawless bandit fierce;
'Till industry, and salutary laws,
Unsheltered both; and made the peasant's cot,
Secure from nightly prowl of man or beast,
And what his hard hand earned in the field,
Gave him to eat in sweet security.
A scene less barren, 'mid the rocks arise,
Of various hues, and sown by Nature's hand,
The mountain shrub, and oaks of lessened growth;
Perhaps ascending from the ancient roots
Of mighty forests, that in times remote,
Embraced in solemn umbrage half our isle,
Beneath whose dark protection dwelt secure,
The savage Wolf, or lawless bandit fierce;
'Till industry, and salutary laws,
Unsheltered both; and made the peasant's cot,
Secure from nightly prowl of man or beast,
16
Gave him to eat in sweet security.
How grateful is the air that breathes around,
From many a scented thorn.—Here let us range
This dubious walk, that winds its erring way
Amid these hazels; whose projecting boughs,
Shall shield my fair from Phœbus' downward ray.
Or let us range the mountain's airy side,
While the fresh breeze, from purer regions blown,
Fans the wild flower, that not with less perfume
Than garden-nurtured plants delicious yield,
With mingled odours, scents the idle heath.
And strawberries of keener flavour pluck,
And brighter glow; whose root no gard'ner trim'd
Protection none bestow'd from the rude blast,
When winter blew his cold ungenial breath;
O'er hill and dale.—Or if far prospect please,
We'll climb the upmost point, and look around,
O'er the diminish'd landscape far and wide;
And sit delighted on some woody steep,
That high o'erlooks the sylvan scene below.
From many a scented thorn.—Here let us range
This dubious walk, that winds its erring way
Amid these hazels; whose projecting boughs,
Shall shield my fair from Phœbus' downward ray.
Or let us range the mountain's airy side,
While the fresh breeze, from purer regions blown,
Fans the wild flower, that not with less perfume
Than garden-nurtured plants delicious yield,
With mingled odours, scents the idle heath.
And strawberries of keener flavour pluck,
And brighter glow; whose root no gard'ner trim'd
17
When winter blew his cold ungenial breath;
O'er hill and dale.—Or if far prospect please,
We'll climb the upmost point, and look around,
O'er the diminish'd landscape far and wide;
And sit delighted on some woody steep,
That high o'erlooks the sylvan scene below.
Swell'd to a stream, the river rolls along,
With distant murmurs; intermitting oft,
As dies the breeze; and through the opening glade
Seen restless darting down the hollow dell;
By many a jutting stone retorted, vext,
And wheel'd in circling eddies rapid on,
Now through a sunny visto purls away,
And now, beneath the deep, projected, shade,
Of broken cliffs, with oaks umbrageous crown'd,
Obscurely winds. Let's quit the hilly seat,
(The vale invites us to its verdant shades)
And the cool mazes of the river trace,
Down through its winding course; this crooked path
Descending dark, beneath the leafy cope,
Of trees co-mingling high, their adverse boughs,
Leads to the rural bridge—a storm struck elm,
That lays its ivied trunk from bank to bank,
Recumbent o'er the stream, a giddy pass;
Where with recoiling step, and shrinking form,
Timid retiring from the rugged brink,
The city nymph would fear to venture soft,
Her velvet foot;—though here with nimble pace,
Oft trip her sun-burnt sisters of the vale,
Whether with baskets stowed, or early pails
With balmy steam, they seek the distant town;
Or to the neighbouring fields, the frugal meal,
Bear welcome, to the swains that toiling sweat,
In the red furrow, or the fuming swarth
Of new-mown hay, or stubble widely spread,
With the heaped treasures of the ripened year.
With distant murmurs; intermitting oft,
As dies the breeze; and through the opening glade
Seen restless darting down the hollow dell;
By many a jutting stone retorted, vext,
And wheel'd in circling eddies rapid on,
Now through a sunny visto purls away,
18
Of broken cliffs, with oaks umbrageous crown'd,
Obscurely winds. Let's quit the hilly seat,
(The vale invites us to its verdant shades)
And the cool mazes of the river trace,
Down through its winding course; this crooked path
Descending dark, beneath the leafy cope,
Of trees co-mingling high, their adverse boughs,
Leads to the rural bridge—a storm struck elm,
That lays its ivied trunk from bank to bank,
Recumbent o'er the stream, a giddy pass;
Where with recoiling step, and shrinking form,
Timid retiring from the rugged brink,
The city nymph would fear to venture soft,
Her velvet foot;—though here with nimble pace,
Oft trip her sun-burnt sisters of the vale,
19
With balmy steam, they seek the distant town;
Or to the neighbouring fields, the frugal meal,
Bear welcome, to the swains that toiling sweat,
In the red furrow, or the fuming swarth
Of new-mown hay, or stubble widely spread,
With the heaped treasures of the ripened year.
Rude as the rock, and as the prospect wild,
Congenial to the scene, the peasant boy,
Ragged and staring through his bushy locks,
Sits on a mossy crag; with artless line,
From a long osier cast into the deep.
Others more vent'rous climb from steep to steep,
Where bilberries in ripe profusion spread;
By custom bold—
Congenial to the scene, the peasant boy,
Ragged and staring through his bushy locks,
Sits on a mossy crag; with artless line,
From a long osier cast into the deep.
Others more vent'rous climb from steep to steep,
Where bilberries in ripe profusion spread;
By custom bold—
20
Dark and more solemn now
Grows the wild scene; depending rocks and trees,
And mossy grots, and dripping caverns dank,
Fit habitation as it well may seem,
For rural deities as poets feign;
Dryad or Hemadryad, or rude Faun,
Satyrs, or Naids crown'd with waving sedge;
That dwell in woods, and haunt the secret flood:
Divine retreat for him who loves the muse,
And from the deep confusion of the town,
Loves to retire; and on some mossy bank,
Enjoys the tranquil day, fill'd with the love
Of Nature, and her works; 'till the full tide
Of rapture hurrying through the kindling soul,
Lifts him to Heaven—or with a chosen book,
In pleasing study charms the passing hour;
That like the stream, with never wearying pace,
Slips ceaseless down into that silent vale,
Where ends the progress of all human things.
Grows the wild scene; depending rocks and trees,
And mossy grots, and dripping caverns dank,
Fit habitation as it well may seem,
For rural deities as poets feign;
Dryad or Hemadryad, or rude Faun,
Satyrs, or Naids crown'd with waving sedge;
That dwell in woods, and haunt the secret flood:
Divine retreat for him who loves the muse,
And from the deep confusion of the town,
Loves to retire; and on some mossy bank,
Enjoys the tranquil day, fill'd with the love
Of Nature, and her works; 'till the full tide
Of rapture hurrying through the kindling soul,
Lifts him to Heaven—or with a chosen book,
In pleasing study charms the passing hour;
21
Slips ceaseless down into that silent vale,
Where ends the progress of all human things.
Here deep forgetful of the busy world,
And all the toiling sons of care and strife,
Let me repose, in woody night retired.
I love the hollow grot, and mossy dell
With wild flowers sweet, and matted foliage fresh;
Where hums th'industrious bee; or pitching rill
With distant roar, through rocky mazes deep,
Soft on the ear with lulling murmur falls.
Lead me ye genii to th'enchanted rock,
Where in speluncal darkness fairies dwell,
And trickling waters chime; where never bathe
The sultry hours, nor red Aurora laves
Her radiant brow; thence let me look abroad
O'er dell and dingle, wood and level lawn,
And furrow'd field, and wildly tangled copse,
And broad high-way, with slowly labouring team;
The distant city, cot, or ruin'd tower,
Or far remote the sea a level line,
Speck'd by the lessen'd barque—the headland bluff
Stretching a dusky length, or shining bay
Or narrow frith, or harbour thickly thronged
With the black ships of war; from whose long sides
The far exploded guns are scarcely heard;
Or inland mountain dim, with summit blue
A doubtful object, mingling with the clouds.
O'er all the wide extended prospect round
Let my eye wander in delighted gaze,
From the small rill that murmurs at my foot,
To where the soft horizon meets the sky:
And see the river wandering far away,
Through sun, and shade, with peopled bank or bare,
Verdant or brown, with hurried course or slow,
Abrupt or smooth, in all its various forms;
And there unenvious of the glare of courts,
All the bright noon I'd tune my rural pipe;
And sing the river as it flows along.
And all the toiling sons of care and strife,
Let me repose, in woody night retired.
I love the hollow grot, and mossy dell
With wild flowers sweet, and matted foliage fresh;
Where hums th'industrious bee; or pitching rill
With distant roar, through rocky mazes deep,
Soft on the ear with lulling murmur falls.
Lead me ye genii to th'enchanted rock,
Where in speluncal darkness fairies dwell,
And trickling waters chime; where never bathe
22
Her radiant brow; thence let me look abroad
O'er dell and dingle, wood and level lawn,
And furrow'd field, and wildly tangled copse,
And broad high-way, with slowly labouring team;
The distant city, cot, or ruin'd tower,
Or far remote the sea a level line,
Speck'd by the lessen'd barque—the headland bluff
Stretching a dusky length, or shining bay
Or narrow frith, or harbour thickly thronged
With the black ships of war; from whose long sides
The far exploded guns are scarcely heard;
Or inland mountain dim, with summit blue
A doubtful object, mingling with the clouds.
O'er all the wide extended prospect round
Let my eye wander in delighted gaze,
23
To where the soft horizon meets the sky:
And see the river wandering far away,
Through sun, and shade, with peopled bank or bare,
Verdant or brown, with hurried course or slow,
Abrupt or smooth, in all its various forms;
And there unenvious of the glare of courts,
All the bright noon I'd tune my rural pipe;
And sing the river as it flows along.
Grown into force by many a gurgling brook,
That from the hanging woods precipitates
Into its channel, the determined stream
A bolder tone assumes, and white with foam,
As intervening rocks obstruct its course,
With oft refracted current hoarse and deep,
Involved, distracted, in a raging gulf,
It boils and swells, 'till with irruption quick,
And force resistless hurrying furious on,
Down through a rugged gap it wildly pours,
With deaf'ning uproar to the vale below,
The vale below, the grots and hollow caves,
Within their deep recesses seem to groan;
And down the dale the agitated stream,
Still frets fermenting o'er its gravell'd bed.
That from the hanging woods precipitates
Into its channel, the determined stream
A bolder tone assumes, and white with foam,
As intervening rocks obstruct its course,
24
Involved, distracted, in a raging gulf,
It boils and swells, 'till with irruption quick,
And force resistless hurrying furious on,
Down through a rugged gap it wildly pours,
With deaf'ning uproar to the vale below,
The vale below, the grots and hollow caves,
Within their deep recesses seem to groan;
And down the dale the agitated stream,
Still frets fermenting o'er its gravell'd bed.
Now see beyond yon ivied arch where wide,
Over its sandy floor the river spreads,
Into a shoal, and ripples in its course.
There the mute angler o'er the pebly brim,
Close where the shallowing river forms a strand,
Stands patient, hopeful of the scaly prize,
Eying the gilded fraud with skilful glance:
While from his hand bends the long pliant rod,
Artfully tremulous; rewarding well
His toil, if Phœbus hide his burning head
In friendly clouds; but if with ardent beam
He furious shine, and brighten every rill,
Vain task indeed, to whip the spangling stream.
With fruitless line toss'd idly—but at eve
Let the keen angler stand beside the deep,
And throw the shining beetle silent in,
Or the grey hooded moth with mealy wings,
Not thrown in vain, which with a bulky prey
Sends him home joyous, if no sad mischance
Attend his labours; for the line o'erstrained
By the unusual burthen, often snaps,
And leaves the vacant rod; or worse mishap
The rod itself gives way, and half remains
A useless staff—awhile the angler stands
In silent wishful gaze upon the spot,
Where sunk his hopes; then homeward sadly turns
With slow, reluctant step, and to the friend
That meets him on the way, relates his loss
With great exaggeration.------
Over its sandy floor the river spreads,
Into a shoal, and ripples in its course.
There the mute angler o'er the pebly brim,
25
Stands patient, hopeful of the scaly prize,
Eying the gilded fraud with skilful glance:
While from his hand bends the long pliant rod,
Artfully tremulous; rewarding well
His toil, if Phœbus hide his burning head
In friendly clouds; but if with ardent beam
He furious shine, and brighten every rill,
Vain task indeed, to whip the spangling stream.
With fruitless line toss'd idly—but at eve
Let the keen angler stand beside the deep,
And throw the shining beetle silent in,
Or the grey hooded moth with mealy wings,
Not thrown in vain, which with a bulky prey
Sends him home joyous, if no sad mischance
Attend his labours; for the line o'erstrained
26
And leaves the vacant rod; or worse mishap
The rod itself gives way, and half remains
A useless staff—awhile the angler stands
In silent wishful gaze upon the spot,
Where sunk his hopes; then homeward sadly turns
With slow, reluctant step, and to the friend
That meets him on the way, relates his loss
With great exaggeration.------
But of all
Who search the fruitful river, cruel they
Who in the peopled current murderous throw
The slacking lime; destructive to the race
That breathe the running brook, or standing lake.
Seized in his gravelly bed, beneath the shade
Of waving sedge, the trout with yellow gill,
Swell'd by the poisonous suffocating draught,
In many a circle wildly hurrying dies,
And turns his gold side glistening to the sun.
Ev'n in his friendly mud the writhed eel
The subtile venom feels, and lies at length
Bloated and stiff beneath his native pool.
The river whitens thro' its distant streams,
And all the finny multitude expires.
Who search the fruitful river, cruel they
Who in the peopled current murderous throw
The slacking lime; destructive to the race
That breathe the running brook, or standing lake.
27
Of waving sedge, the trout with yellow gill,
Swell'd by the poisonous suffocating draught,
In many a circle wildly hurrying dies,
And turns his gold side glistening to the sun.
Ev'n in his friendly mud the writhed eel
The subtile venom feels, and lies at length
Bloated and stiff beneath his native pool.
The river whitens thro' its distant streams,
And all the finny multitude expires.
And O forbear! ye rural swains to lay
The banded flax, beneath the wholesome wave;
As deleterious to the scaly tribe,
And mortal where so e'er its influence spreads:
But wisely in the quaggy hole, or fen,
Much more appropriate, steep the valued swarth;
So shall the river to your board bestow,
In season due a plentiful supply.
The banded flax, beneath the wholesome wave;
As deleterious to the scaly tribe,
And mortal where so e'er its influence spreads:
28
Much more appropriate, steep the valued swarth;
So shall the river to your board bestow,
In season due a plentiful supply.
Not distant hence amid the broad brown flags
Disposed in measured pace across the stream
(Trod' by the villagers with unwet hose)
Brawls the wide ford, a safe and certain pass
When summer suns have drank the mountain rills
But when black wintry clouds involve the peaks
Of yon high hills and their bleak sides invest
With rolling volumes, dangerous is the way
And dreadful roars the tawny torrent down
And frequent from the haggart or the field
Bears off the sheafy treasures of the year
And mows of hoarded hay, and trees uptorn
Though rooted deep and wide, an age's growth;
With implements of husbandry; and leaves
The stubbled plain and copse and verdant close
A sandy waste for many an acre round.
The bank feels most its fury, and resigns
Its grassy margins to the impetuous flood;
Cut from below it crumbles headlong in
Narrowing the velvet glebe, freckled with flow'rs
And willows green, that love to kiss the stream,
Narcissus like with ever bending head.
Disposed in measured pace across the stream
(Trod' by the villagers with unwet hose)
Brawls the wide ford, a safe and certain pass
When summer suns have drank the mountain rills
But when black wintry clouds involve the peaks
Of yon high hills and their bleak sides invest
With rolling volumes, dangerous is the way
And dreadful roars the tawny torrent down
And frequent from the haggart or the field
29
And mows of hoarded hay, and trees uptorn
Though rooted deep and wide, an age's growth;
With implements of husbandry; and leaves
The stubbled plain and copse and verdant close
A sandy waste for many an acre round.
The bank feels most its fury, and resigns
Its grassy margins to the impetuous flood;
Cut from below it crumbles headlong in
Narrowing the velvet glebe, freckled with flow'rs
And willows green, that love to kiss the stream,
Narcissus like with ever bending head.
Yet not unfrequent in the summer time,
Swell'd by the upland show'r, the river mounts
With sudden rage, and on the bank perplex'd
The disappointed traveller leaves to mourn
Or measure back a long and tedious way.
But ah! the hapless tale, I heard it oft
From the sad shepherds who remember well
The tragic scene, and still relate with tears,
Of Randal and his lovely Anna's fate.
Swell'd by the upland show'r, the river mounts
30
The disappointed traveller leaves to mourn
Or measure back a long and tedious way.
But ah! the hapless tale, I heard it oft
From the sad shepherds who remember well
The tragic scene, and still relate with tears,
Of Randal and his lovely Anna's fate.
Where yonder solitary mansion lifts
Its cheerless walls, beside yon woody knoll,
There dwelt a man of wealth and generous fame,
His name was Alford. From his bounteous board
And ready hand the wretched never turned
Uncherished, honoured by the country round,
Rich in the favour of the great and good
And blessings of the poor, he led a life
Of primal innocence and rural ease,
'Till time had crown'd his reverend brows with snow.
One only son he had, his dearest hope,
The youthful image of his father's worth,
A form in manly grace excelled by none,
A mind enriched with every gentle art
And polished manners—Randal was his name.
From earliest youth he loved a gentle maid,
The humble offspring of a rural pair,
Who in the neighbouring fields laborious earn'd,
In frugal living for their darling child,
A competence in flocks and country geer.
To wed her, suited to their simple views,
To some industrious swain, and die content,
Their only hope and dearest wish on earth.
She, lovely maid, was by an aged dame,
Who hereby dwell'd, train'd up in virtue's school,
Where Randal often came, two lovelier sure
Ne'er met—in childish play their hours they spent,
Attachment ripen'd with their opening charms,
'Till infant friendship kindled into love.
She now was in the blush and prime of youth,
And bless'd her parents' cot, the sweetest flower
That in this valley grew, the village pride;
The subject she of every ditty rude
Tuned artless by the uncouth country swains,
And object of each brutal squire's address;
But she for Randal felt an equal flame
That with loves' brightest, truest lustre burn'd.
Their plighted faith was given, and the vow,
The sacred vow beyond all earthly ties
Of endless love and firm unshaken truth,
And each with mutual ardor wish'd the morn
Was but arrived, that would their union seal,
And sanctify their bliss.—But hope deceives—
Old Alford saw the fond attachment grow,
And, in his mind, the pride of ancestry
Arising pain'd his thoughts, lest he might see
His ancient line dishonour'd. To his son
One morn he gave the fatal interdiction,
And Randal must no more his Anna see—
A father's mandate—In his generous soul
Conflicting love and duty furious strove,
Unequal strife—he mourn'd in solitude,
And to yon wood he pour'd his sorrows forth,
For one whole day heard by the passing hind;
Thrown mournful on the mossy margent green
Of lonely rill, or 'neath embow'ring folds
Of over hanging boughs, deep sunk in woe,
And listless of the birds that warbled near.
At length to this resolve he came, once more
To see his love and in her gentle ear
Himself to pour the melancholy news
And with what argument he might devise,
Prepare her to endure the heavy tale;
While hope still whispered, Alford yet may look
More kindly on their love. Borne by the thought
Beyond the present ill, his bounding heart
Leap'd forward to the rosy prospect sweet
Of future days, with clear and cloudless skies,
Uninterrupted love and endless joy.
Soon as the morn, beneath the crimson folds
Of the proud curtain'd east, look'd forth and all
The verdant hills and every blossom'd spray
With trembling lustre bright of orient gems
Seem'd full of life and joy, and thro' the woods
From many a sylvan pipe the natural hymn
Of gratitude arose to him, whose hand
Gives change of day and night and wet and dry,
And when the ravage of the wintry winds
Has strip'd the bow'rs, and laid the forests bare,
Who with unceasing fond, parental care,
Returning still recloathes the naked year.
Its cheerless walls, beside yon woody knoll,
There dwelt a man of wealth and generous fame,
His name was Alford. From his bounteous board
And ready hand the wretched never turned
Uncherished, honoured by the country round,
Rich in the favour of the great and good
31
Of primal innocence and rural ease,
'Till time had crown'd his reverend brows with snow.
One only son he had, his dearest hope,
The youthful image of his father's worth,
A form in manly grace excelled by none,
A mind enriched with every gentle art
And polished manners—Randal was his name.
From earliest youth he loved a gentle maid,
The humble offspring of a rural pair,
Who in the neighbouring fields laborious earn'd,
In frugal living for their darling child,
A competence in flocks and country geer.
To wed her, suited to their simple views,
To some industrious swain, and die content,
Their only hope and dearest wish on earth.
32
Who hereby dwell'd, train'd up in virtue's school,
Where Randal often came, two lovelier sure
Ne'er met—in childish play their hours they spent,
Attachment ripen'd with their opening charms,
'Till infant friendship kindled into love.
She now was in the blush and prime of youth,
And bless'd her parents' cot, the sweetest flower
That in this valley grew, the village pride;
The subject she of every ditty rude
Tuned artless by the uncouth country swains,
And object of each brutal squire's address;
But she for Randal felt an equal flame
That with loves' brightest, truest lustre burn'd.
Their plighted faith was given, and the vow,
The sacred vow beyond all earthly ties
33
And each with mutual ardor wish'd the morn
Was but arrived, that would their union seal,
And sanctify their bliss.—But hope deceives—
Old Alford saw the fond attachment grow,
And, in his mind, the pride of ancestry
Arising pain'd his thoughts, lest he might see
His ancient line dishonour'd. To his son
One morn he gave the fatal interdiction,
And Randal must no more his Anna see—
A father's mandate—In his generous soul
Conflicting love and duty furious strove,
Unequal strife—he mourn'd in solitude,
And to yon wood he pour'd his sorrows forth,
For one whole day heard by the passing hind;
Thrown mournful on the mossy margent green
34
Of over hanging boughs, deep sunk in woe,
And listless of the birds that warbled near.
At length to this resolve he came, once more
To see his love and in her gentle ear
Himself to pour the melancholy news
And with what argument he might devise,
Prepare her to endure the heavy tale;
While hope still whispered, Alford yet may look
More kindly on their love. Borne by the thought
Beyond the present ill, his bounding heart
Leap'd forward to the rosy prospect sweet
Of future days, with clear and cloudless skies,
Uninterrupted love and endless joy.
35
Of the proud curtain'd east, look'd forth and all
The verdant hills and every blossom'd spray
With trembling lustre bright of orient gems
Seem'd full of life and joy, and thro' the woods
From many a sylvan pipe the natural hymn
Of gratitude arose to him, whose hand
Gives change of day and night and wet and dry,
And when the ravage of the wintry winds
Has strip'd the bow'rs, and laid the forests bare,
Who with unceasing fond, parental care,
Returning still recloathes the naked year.
With the first beam, after a restless night,
Randal arose, as was his custom oft,
To rural sports, and to his love he hastes—
All day they wander'd o'er the usual walks
In converse fond thro' the dark covering grove,
Or winding thicket green, or bushy copse,
The witnesses of many a tender scene,
Nor thought of parting 'till the purple clouds
Of evening streaked the west, when Randal sad,
While from his swelling heart the frequent sigh
Resistless burst, the heavy tidings told.
How both then felt who shall in verse describe,
Vain task—lock'd silent in each others arms;
Long time they stood—and seemed as they had vowed
They never more would part—but part they must;
Pale eve arose, and with her came thick clouds,
Portending storm and rain, that now to fall
In thickening mist began, sealed with a kiss
The mutual pledge they gave of endless love,
And parted—she to her humble home in tears,
He to'rd his father's house went sad and slow.
Randal arose, as was his custom oft,
36
All day they wander'd o'er the usual walks
In converse fond thro' the dark covering grove,
Or winding thicket green, or bushy copse,
The witnesses of many a tender scene,
Nor thought of parting 'till the purple clouds
Of evening streaked the west, when Randal sad,
While from his swelling heart the frequent sigh
Resistless burst, the heavy tidings told.
How both then felt who shall in verse describe,
Vain task—lock'd silent in each others arms;
Long time they stood—and seemed as they had vowed
They never more would part—but part they must;
Pale eve arose, and with her came thick clouds,
Portending storm and rain, that now to fall
In thickening mist began, sealed with a kiss
37
And parted—she to her humble home in tears,
He to'rd his father's house went sad and slow.
Ah! little thought she with that parting kiss
She gave the last adieu—the morrow came
And on the bank, known by the village boys,
The faithful dog that followed Randal's heel,
Sat howling—soon amid the hamlet ran
The horrible surmise, confirmed quick
By the youth's absence; all along the banks
The mournful rusticks try with ceaseless toil,
And mingling words of woe ingenuous pour'd,
From out the sedgy pool at length redeem,
His stiffen'd corse—The lovely maid survived
The dreadful shock, but reason fled with hope.
Long o'er these banks with frantic gestures wild,
Or moping mid the rushy moors alone,
A poor crazed wretch she pined, till death's kind call
Released her from her woes.—How often thus
The sweetest wreaths that love and nature twine,
By some rude shock are rent, some mortal stroke.
How often too, when in the rosy hours
Of youth and innocence the tender shaft
Has pierced two gentle corresponding hearts,
Though ev'ry hope is smiling sweet, and joy
Shaking his purple wings their steps attend,
Parents averse their childrens' ruin seal.
She gave the last adieu—the morrow came
And on the bank, known by the village boys,
The faithful dog that followed Randal's heel,
Sat howling—soon amid the hamlet ran
The horrible surmise, confirmed quick
By the youth's absence; all along the banks
The mournful rusticks try with ceaseless toil,
And mingling words of woe ingenuous pour'd,
From out the sedgy pool at length redeem,
His stiffen'd corse—The lovely maid survived
38
Long o'er these banks with frantic gestures wild,
Or moping mid the rushy moors alone,
A poor crazed wretch she pined, till death's kind call
Released her from her woes.—How often thus
The sweetest wreaths that love and nature twine,
By some rude shock are rent, some mortal stroke.
How often too, when in the rosy hours
Of youth and innocence the tender shaft
Has pierced two gentle corresponding hearts,
Though ev'ry hope is smiling sweet, and joy
Shaking his purple wings their steps attend,
Parents averse their childrens' ruin seal.
Now turn and let the tender tear subside,
That pity wou'd bestow on hapless love
And look beyond to that rude scene of mirth,
Under the covert of a woody cragg,
From whose rough side the ready current springs
Upon the wheel below, that all day long
Turn'd ceaseless, now the day's whole task is done,
The silent mill no more obeys the stream,
And see from every side the villagers
Come glad to taste the evening pastime blithe
And dance upon the green; for ancient Hodge
Can scrape a jarring string to which the heel
Of many a nymyh has bounded in the days
Long past, or bidden from his distant home
Full many a dusty mile the minstrel comes.
He, hoary-headed man from early youth
Deprived the blessed light, assumed the pipe
Unfit for toil, his only refuge now,
And refuge not despised, amid the swains
From pinching want in his declining years.
39
And look beyond to that rude scene of mirth,
Under the covert of a woody cragg,
From whose rough side the ready current springs
Upon the wheel below, that all day long
Turn'd ceaseless, now the day's whole task is done,
The silent mill no more obeys the stream,
And see from every side the villagers
Come glad to taste the evening pastime blithe
And dance upon the green; for ancient Hodge
Can scrape a jarring string to which the heel
Of many a nymyh has bounded in the days
Long past, or bidden from his distant home
Full many a dusty mile the minstrel comes.
He, hoary-headed man from early youth
Deprived the blessed light, assumed the pipe
40
And refuge not despised, amid the swains
From pinching want in his declining years.
With head erect and placid brow serene
Led by some friendly hand he takes his seat
Amid the jocund ring, most honour'd guest,
And in his hand by some distinguished fair
The mantling cup is placed—and soon refreshed
Forth with a careful hand he slowly draws
The shining tubes, whose wild sonorous voice,
When heard, suspends their loud loquacious glee,
Or interrupts the bashful lover's tale
Then first with awkward air and fault'ring speech,
Whisper'd into the blushing damsel's ear
Who with affected coy indifference
Or plaits her kerchief or adjusts her hair,
A vain disguise.—And now with ready spring,
Soon as the droney lilt is heard, all rise,
With sudden joy inspired, and jig along
Sounding the level glebe, with many a jirk
And uncouth gesture, while adown their cheeks
Flushed with the glow of health, the trickling dew
Runs frequent, while the laugh sincere and roar
Of unfeigned merriment re-echoes round.
Or wearied with the long laborious joy
The tuneful sage invokes a graver muse
And gives the ancient strain that roused the chiefs
Of other days—the battle rages now
And horrid tumult with the mingled groans
Of dying foes, kerns and gallowglasses
Mixed in the fiery front of cruel war
Septs pouring on the field in all the rage
Of family dissention kindled fell
Through wide extended consanguinity.
Led by some friendly hand he takes his seat
Amid the jocund ring, most honour'd guest,
And in his hand by some distinguished fair
The mantling cup is placed—and soon refreshed
Forth with a careful hand he slowly draws
The shining tubes, whose wild sonorous voice,
When heard, suspends their loud loquacious glee,
Or interrupts the bashful lover's tale
Then first with awkward air and fault'ring speech,
Whisper'd into the blushing damsel's ear
41
Or plaits her kerchief or adjusts her hair,
A vain disguise.—And now with ready spring,
Soon as the droney lilt is heard, all rise,
With sudden joy inspired, and jig along
Sounding the level glebe, with many a jirk
And uncouth gesture, while adown their cheeks
Flushed with the glow of health, the trickling dew
Runs frequent, while the laugh sincere and roar
Of unfeigned merriment re-echoes round.
Or wearied with the long laborious joy
The tuneful sage invokes a graver muse
And gives the ancient strain that roused the chiefs
Of other days—the battle rages now
And horrid tumult with the mingled groans
Of dying foes, kerns and gallowglasses
42
Septs pouring on the field in all the rage
Of family dissention kindled fell
Through wide extended consanguinity.
Or warm'd with the gen'rous draught resigns anon
The martial strain, and with an alter'd hand
Of love pours out the soft and melting lay
As best he can.—Love is his master strain,
Confess'd by mute attention leaning round
In fond enjoyment rapt. Not more regard
A British audience pays, nor more applause,
When in their theatres assembled full,
Or in Westminster's awful dome to hear
Sublimest Handel's seraph song divine,
Haydn's true air, or Pleyel's melodies
Oft on the willing ear returning sweet,
Through the quick maze of modulated sound,
Withheld to fall more grateful on the sense,
If Yanowitz impetuous sweep the string,
Or Ashe run out the long and learn'd strain.
The martial strain, and with an alter'd hand
Of love pours out the soft and melting lay
As best he can.—Love is his master strain,
Confess'd by mute attention leaning round
In fond enjoyment rapt. Not more regard
A British audience pays, nor more applause,
When in their theatres assembled full,
Or in Westminster's awful dome to hear
Sublimest Handel's seraph song divine,
43
Oft on the willing ear returning sweet,
Through the quick maze of modulated sound,
Withheld to fall more grateful on the sense,
If Yanowitz impetuous sweep the string,
Or Ashe run out the long and learn'd strain.
Such are the pleasures rural swains enjoy
When labour yields to rest its portion due
Sweet is the hour of rest, the joys how sweet
Of rural dance, and all the village sports
By toil enhanced. Happy their humble lot
How happy, did they know the bliss to live
Unburthen'd with the cares the great attend,
Ah! would they ne'er disturb their tranquil lives
With speculations wild, by restless men,
Into their simple and ingenuous minds
Instilled; their state were enviable sure:
All are not born to rule; that arduous task
Few can assume, and while the peasant feels
His life and property, his dearest rights
Guarded 'gainst plunder or oppressive force,
Ev'n with the proud and rich—why ask he then
Who wields the sceptre and who wears the crown?
When labour yields to rest its portion due
Sweet is the hour of rest, the joys how sweet
Of rural dance, and all the village sports
By toil enhanced. Happy their humble lot
How happy, did they know the bliss to live
Unburthen'd with the cares the great attend,
Ah! would they ne'er disturb their tranquil lives
44
Into their simple and ingenuous minds
Instilled; their state were enviable sure:
All are not born to rule; that arduous task
Few can assume, and while the peasant feels
His life and property, his dearest rights
Guarded 'gainst plunder or oppressive force,
Ev'n with the proud and rich—why ask he then
Who wields the sceptre and who wears the crown?
The river now a more majestic form
Assumes, the valley widens, and the hills
(Cloathed with verdant groves, whose bowering skirts
Oft to the banks extend, and o'er the wave
Stretch their umbrageous boughs) with many a cot
And whitened villa animated smile.
Swept into bays the river winds along,
Full to its margin, fringed with blossom'd herbs
Of luscious fume, and many a wat'ry flower
Sweet smelling mint and all the various bloom,
That crowns the bank and scents the summer breeze,
And stately reed in clusters rising thick
Like firm compacted cohorts in the fields
Of ancient battle ranged; Actium or Cannæ,
Or Philippi, which after ages saw
White with the bones of heroes; or that plain
Pharsalia, dreadful scene of civil strife,
Roman 'gainst Roman fired, O! may such sight
Be absent long, nor sound of trump or steel
Disturb my native soil, in fruitful hills
And verdant vales unrivall'd, and a race
With hands more prompt to lift the ready latch
To wandering wretch, or hungry traveller,
Than point the deadly gun or gleaming spear,
Yet when in arms to check a foreign foe,
Or guard their native coast from the approach
Of hostile navies, in the fight excell'd
By none of arctic or of southern clime.
Assumes, the valley widens, and the hills
(Cloathed with verdant groves, whose bowering skirts
Oft to the banks extend, and o'er the wave
Stretch their umbrageous boughs) with many a cot
45
Swept into bays the river winds along,
Full to its margin, fringed with blossom'd herbs
Of luscious fume, and many a wat'ry flower
Sweet smelling mint and all the various bloom,
That crowns the bank and scents the summer breeze,
And stately reed in clusters rising thick
Like firm compacted cohorts in the fields
Of ancient battle ranged; Actium or Cannæ,
Or Philippi, which after ages saw
White with the bones of heroes; or that plain
Pharsalia, dreadful scene of civil strife,
Roman 'gainst Roman fired, O! may such sight
Be absent long, nor sound of trump or steel
Disturb my native soil, in fruitful hills
And verdant vales unrivall'd, and a race
46
To wandering wretch, or hungry traveller,
Than point the deadly gun or gleaming spear,
Yet when in arms to check a foreign foe,
Or guard their native coast from the approach
Of hostile navies, in the fight excell'd
By none of arctic or of southern clime.
Now scarce a breeze with light ætherial wing
Ruffles the limpid space, undimpled, smooth
Except by yonder jutting bank o'er hung
With waving verdure, where the Paphian bird,
Close to his snowy mate, with neck recurved,
Sails proudly, while around them play secure
The dusky cygnets, or 'mid her downy wings
Borne by the watchful parent bird, repose.
Or from the rushy covert sudden flushed
The moor-hen flutters wild, by city youth
Pursued inglorious, while within the shade
Her infant brood's concealed; forbear such sport.
And learn ye giddy swains more manly play,
And in such season, cease with cruel hand
To persecute the harmless feather'd race.
Ruffles the limpid space, undimpled, smooth
Except by yonder jutting bank o'er hung
With waving verdure, where the Paphian bird,
Close to his snowy mate, with neck recurved,
Sails proudly, while around them play secure
The dusky cygnets, or 'mid her downy wings
47
Or from the rushy covert sudden flushed
The moor-hen flutters wild, by city youth
Pursued inglorious, while within the shade
Her infant brood's concealed; forbear such sport.
And learn ye giddy swains more manly play,
And in such season, cease with cruel hand
To persecute the harmless feather'd race.
Now after many a sweep amid the vales
Through dark brown forests, fields, and grassy downs
By castled eminence, and shepherd's cot,
Wide and more wide the opening river spreads
Into a lake, border'd with hanging woods
And rocks sublime, crag above crag emboss'd
With native shrubs, the free spontaneous growth
Of this rude garden, intermingling hues
As various as their kinds, with fruit and flow'r
Diversely hung, a wildly varied scene,
With pipe of many a bird, and dash of rills
Heard far within, with lulling murmur soft
Gurgling through mossy grots, or trickling chill
Down the green brow of some projecting cliff,
Brought on the breeze—while far behind uplift
Rough mountains vast their cheerless summits gray
Above the vegetable world upraised,
Naked, and wan, into the keener air,
While round their vast foundations dark, and dread,
The forest deepens into solemn shade,
Beneath the concave still of spreading oaks
Thick'ning on ev'ry side for ages, wide
Wood beyond Wood descried, a brown expance,
Mid whose sequester'd dells, the rural swain
The wild path wanders oft, at fervid noon,
And winds its dark intricacies, amused
To pluck the hanging filbert from the spray,
Or lies along beneath the ancient elm,
Whose ivied trunk leans o'er the brook below,
With cool clear stream that 'neath the hanging cope
Of verdant osiers trickles through the shade,
Wooing soft echo on his sylvan pipe,
'Till evening veils the woods in deeper gloom,
And o'er the landscape sheds a sober grey,
Through which at distance rises straight and thin
The long blue smoak from the lone cotter's hearth,
Sunk in the bosom of a silent vale,
There he, in hoary age, his scanty fare
Digs from a patch, his aged hand has till'd,
And drinks the stream—his only company
A little homely cat, his trade to range
The hollow mazes of the neighbouring woods,
From whence the withered stick he daily brings
Collected mindful of the winter's fire.
Through dark brown forests, fields, and grassy downs
By castled eminence, and shepherd's cot,
Wide and more wide the opening river spreads
Into a lake, border'd with hanging woods
And rocks sublime, crag above crag emboss'd
48
Of this rude garden, intermingling hues
As various as their kinds, with fruit and flow'r
Diversely hung, a wildly varied scene,
With pipe of many a bird, and dash of rills
Heard far within, with lulling murmur soft
Gurgling through mossy grots, or trickling chill
Down the green brow of some projecting cliff,
Brought on the breeze—while far behind uplift
Rough mountains vast their cheerless summits gray
Above the vegetable world upraised,
Naked, and wan, into the keener air,
While round their vast foundations dark, and dread,
The forest deepens into solemn shade,
Beneath the concave still of spreading oaks
Thick'ning on ev'ry side for ages, wide
49
Mid whose sequester'd dells, the rural swain
The wild path wanders oft, at fervid noon,
And winds its dark intricacies, amused
To pluck the hanging filbert from the spray,
Or lies along beneath the ancient elm,
Whose ivied trunk leans o'er the brook below,
With cool clear stream that 'neath the hanging cope
Of verdant osiers trickles through the shade,
Wooing soft echo on his sylvan pipe,
'Till evening veils the woods in deeper gloom,
And o'er the landscape sheds a sober grey,
Through which at distance rises straight and thin
The long blue smoak from the lone cotter's hearth,
Sunk in the bosom of a silent vale,
There he, in hoary age, his scanty fare
50
And drinks the stream—his only company
A little homely cat, his trade to range
The hollow mazes of the neighbouring woods,
From whence the withered stick he daily brings
Collected mindful of the winter's fire.
O! there were days, when, in such scenes as these,
I've roved unmindful of the times to come,
And rob'd the sycamore, or willow green,
Of many a pipe, nor even thought, that age
Followed my steps, and in Elisium lost
Went on from dell to dell, from bow'r to bow'r,
And felt a rapture, yet knew not from whence
The rapture flowed—O! nature 'twas from thee,
Thou and thy works my early childhood pleased,
Soothed my youth (when many a frowning care
Sat by my pillow when I should have slept
And bade me wake;) and taught me first to sing.
Shall I forget thee nature in my song?
No—when in green thou walk'st the dewy lawn,
Or crown'd with roses sit'st in summer's shade,
When heavy harvests load the yellow fields,
Or winter houls the withered groves among.
I've roved unmindful of the times to come,
And rob'd the sycamore, or willow green,
Of many a pipe, nor even thought, that age
Followed my steps, and in Elisium lost
Went on from dell to dell, from bow'r to bow'r,
And felt a rapture, yet knew not from whence
The rapture flowed—O! nature 'twas from thee,
51
Soothed my youth (when many a frowning care
Sat by my pillow when I should have slept
And bade me wake;) and taught me first to sing.
Shall I forget thee nature in my song?
No—when in green thou walk'st the dewy lawn,
Or crown'd with roses sit'st in summer's shade,
When heavy harvests load the yellow fields,
Or winter houls the withered groves among.
Is there a man who never feels a calm
And peaceful joy, o'er his expanding soul,
Steal grateful, while, within the umbrage cool
Of woodland dingle by the wild brook side,
He strays remote—Ah! no, in scenes like these
The soul disburthened leaves the world behind,
Its cares, its tumults, and its various wiles,
And feels, with conscious dignity, awake
The finer passions—every grosser thought
Subsiding, as superior wishes rise;
With honor, friendship, charity, and love,
The heart dilating spreads its fibres forth
And unrestrained embraces all mankind.
And peaceful joy, o'er his expanding soul,
Steal grateful, while, within the umbrage cool
Of woodland dingle by the wild brook side,
He strays remote—Ah! no, in scenes like these
52
Its cares, its tumults, and its various wiles,
And feels, with conscious dignity, awake
The finer passions—every grosser thought
Subsiding, as superior wishes rise;
With honor, friendship, charity, and love,
The heart dilating spreads its fibres forth
And unrestrained embraces all mankind.
What sounds are these deep echoed through the glens
With oft repeated stroke?—yon vista tells,
So lately canopied with living oaks,
It is the axe lays waste the sylvan scene,
And sweeps relentless through its green domains:
Tree after tree submits—the frequent fall
Loud rustling through the kindred branches tells
How wide the devastation—Hovering o'er
In many a circle, hark! the clam'rous rooks
Ask for their wonted seat and scarcely know
Their ancient home; now levell'd with the earth
On every side the prostrate ruins lie,
Never to wave again their leafy heads,
Or yield a covert to the feathered choir,
Who now, with broken song remote and shy,
Seek other bowers, their native branches gone.
With oft repeated stroke?—yon vista tells,
So lately canopied with living oaks,
It is the axe lays waste the sylvan scene,
And sweeps relentless through its green domains:
Tree after tree submits—the frequent fall
53
How wide the devastation—Hovering o'er
In many a circle, hark! the clam'rous rooks
Ask for their wonted seat and scarcely know
Their ancient home; now levell'd with the earth
On every side the prostrate ruins lie,
Never to wave again their leafy heads,
Or yield a covert to the feathered choir,
Who now, with broken song remote and shy,
Seek other bowers, their native branches gone.
Heard in the murmur of yon mountain stream,
Methinks, the sylvan beings seem to chide
And mourn their wonted shades—their wonted shades
The Naiads weep, while round their oozey locks
The wild flowers wither and their azure breasts
They shew reluctant to th'obtrusive day,
And many a silver-footed rill obscure,
That ran a cool course tinkling down the dells,
Vocal no more, resigns her chrystal urn,
And leaves her channel dry, forbear, forbear
And spare my bowers, the woodland genius cries
But cries in vain, the greedy thirst of ore,
To furnish follies in a foreign land,
Strips with rapacious hand these oak-crown'd hills,
Disrobes the vales and denudates the Plain.
Methinks, the sylvan beings seem to chide
And mourn their wonted shades—their wonted shades
The Naiads weep, while round their oozey locks
54
They shew reluctant to th'obtrusive day,
And many a silver-footed rill obscure,
That ran a cool course tinkling down the dells,
Vocal no more, resigns her chrystal urn,
And leaves her channel dry, forbear, forbear
And spare my bowers, the woodland genius cries
But cries in vain, the greedy thirst of ore,
To furnish follies in a foreign land,
Strips with rapacious hand these oak-crown'd hills,
Disrobes the vales and denudates the Plain.
From the rough forehead of yon frowning steep
Whitens the Cataract, scarce heard from hence,
But nearer seen, tremendous gushing down
From ragged precipice disgorged amain,
Shaking the solid hill There let the mind
Expand in contemplation, and contemn
Man's little efforts. Mid these awful scenes—
In these dread walks impassable to men,
In solitude sublime, remote, retired
The God of Nature moves, confess'd to those
Who seek him in his works, and bowing feel
His guiding hand perform the varied whole.
Whitens the Cataract, scarce heard from hence,
But nearer seen, tremendous gushing down
55
Shaking the solid hill There let the mind
Expand in contemplation, and contemn
Man's little efforts. Mid these awful scenes—
In these dread walks impassable to men,
In solitude sublime, remote, retired
The God of Nature moves, confess'd to those
Who seek him in his works, and bowing feel
His guiding hand perform the varied whole.
O! let me ne'er forget, as oft I stray
By hill or forest, flowery field or vale,
By headlong torrent wild, or lucid rill
That licks the rosy verge of some rich lawn,
Or hurries babbling down a shrubby dell,
Or by the woodland stream or mountain rill
Along their vagrant courses musing fond
Whose works they are, nor fail in homage due
To him who made, designed, and orders all.
By hill or forest, flowery field or vale,
By headlong torrent wild, or lucid rill
That licks the rosy verge of some rich lawn,
Or hurries babbling down a shrubby dell,
56
Along their vagrant courses musing fond
Whose works they are, nor fail in homage due
To him who made, designed, and orders all.
End of the First Book.
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